


Remnants

by Fenix21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU: cannon divergence, Angst, Fluff, Linden Rating: probably don't want to miss all the angst and feels, M/M, Mpreg, Season One cannon divergence, almost infant death, difficult birth, moderately graphic birth, mpeg!Sam, rated mature for the birth scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 08:09:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8242381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenix21/pseuds/Fenix21
Summary: Sam carried something away from the fire that killed Jess, and now Dean has to figure out what to do about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like so many of my pieces, this was suppose to be a little thing, a couple thousand words at best, and then it got up and did a little dance and said, 'Look at me! See what I can do?' And, well, here you have it. :)

‘Jesus. Sammy.’ Dean’s knees gave out and landed him on the bed with a dull thump and creak of springs. ‘Why didn't you…? Why didn't you say something?’

Sam was sitting across from him, arms wrapped around his middle, hunched in on himself in a way that suddenly made a lot more sense to Dean with this new revelation. Sam had always hunched a little, curled in on himself, first merely as a defensive tactic against strangers (and everyone was always a stranger to them), and then later because of his height, but what Dean had been witnessing lately had not been either of those—well, a little defensive maybe, now that he thought about it, but the best description was _protective_.

'Sam, I never would have…' Dean shook his head, still clearly in shock. He sat on the bed, hands limp beside his knees, too ashamed to meet Sam's hurt, desperate gaze head on, because he should have _known_ damn it! He'd always been able to figure when something was up with Sam, always been able to draw him out, and it had only been two years for crying out loud! Where had he lost his ability to read his little brother like a book in that short a time? 'I never would have asked if I'd known, you gotta know that.'

Sam shook his head, his own gaze riveted on the few inches of space between the toes of his trainers and Dean's boots on the carpet between the beds. 'And I never would have gone with you if I'd known.'

Dean rubbed his palms against his thighs, his brain finally coming on line a little bit. Anger started to curl in his gut, but he wasn't sure who it was aimed at, Sam or himself. 'When _did_ you know? And why the hell didn't you say something?'

It was all making sense suddenly, Sam's worse than usual moody bouts that Dean was chalking up to grief over Jess' death, the not eating, the sudden and violent vomiting at spontaneous times during the day, the way Sam would never let Dean near enough to him to check him over for wounds, the desperation  to find their father—not necessarily out of a shared need for revenge as Dean had thought, but to get the 'mission' done and over with before it was…too late. 

Before they came to this moment.

'I, uh…' Dean pulled a hand down his face, pinched at his bottom lip with thumb and forefinger for a second, sneaking a glance at the fullness filling out Sam's hoodie behind his tangled up arms. 'I assume it's Jess'.'

'Yeah,' Sam mumbled. 'Of course, it is.'

'Of course.' Dean breathed out slowly. He was still in shock, didn't have the first clue which way to move next. The last few months may be suddenly slotting into place, but that didn't help him one damn bit on what to do now that he knew about this. Now that he knew Sam was pregnant. 'So, uh, what? Five months? Give or take a couple of weeks?'

Sam raised his head a fraction, looked up at Dean through his bangs, like he might be a little surprised his brother could do simple math. 'Yeah. About that.'

Dean nodded slowly at the confirmation. 'Look, Sam, I don't—'

'We do what we set out to do,' Sam said sharply, curling in on himself a fraction tighter. 'We find Dad. We get this done. We gank that damn demon.'

'Sammy…'

'No, Dean!' Sam almost launched off the bed, but seemed to think better of it at the last moment. Dean was stung by the idea it might be because Sam didn't yet trust how he was going to react, like he would ever lay a hand on Sam. Especially now. 'We're gonna find Dad, and then I'm gonna kill that sonofabitch!'

Dean put out his hands, placating. 'Sammy, I told you it probably wasn't going to be that easy, and we can't go off half cocked right now, not with you… I mean…' He gestured helplessly at the empty air. 'It wouldn't be safe. It _hasn't_ been safe.'

Sam laughed suddenly, did stand up then and strode across the room, but he kept his arms wound tight around him still, and Dean found himself watching his brother's every move, eyes magnetically drawn to the swell of Sam's belly under his layers of cotton and jersey knit now that he knew it for what it was. 

'How do you think this is going to go, Dean? I mean, really?' Sam said caustically, pacing away from him. 'You think I'm going to hole up somewhere in Mayberry, pop out my dead girlfriend's kid, and live happily ever after?'

Dean gave a half-hearted shrug. 'It's a thought?'

Sam barked a hard, cold laugh. 'Dean… Do you really see me raising a kid, _us_ raising a kid? The kind of lives we lead, that's more than a fairy tale—it's impossible…and I don't want it.'

Dean's gaze snapped up. Sam was stalled in front of the kitchenette pass-thru, breathing hard and short, like he was fighting back a sob. 'You don't…want it?'

Sam shook his head viciously. 'No. I don't.'

'But Sam…' Dean started to stand, thought better of it, leaned forward on his knees, face earnest. 'Are you just saying that because Jess isn't here? Because you're scared?'

'Fuck _yes_ , I'm scared, Dean!' Sam whirled on him, arms still up at guard and tucked around his middle. 'I'm goddamn terrified! I don't even know if I can carry her to term—'

'Her?' Dean asked, soft and awe-hushed. 

Sam ducked his head, cheeks coloring. 'Um, yeah. I had a… I had an ultrasound when we were in Ankeny.' 

Dean had insisted they stay until the next day after the Hookman was well in hand (no pun intended) and put to his eternal rest, to give Sam the time to warm up to that little preacher's daughter. If it went well, Dean was willing to hole up for a week or so, let Sam get his rocks off a few times, loosen up, let go a little. Lord knew the kid needed it, and it would do him some good. He thought the plan had been successful when he woke up the next morning and found Sam gone and a brief note that he'd be back in a couple of hours. When he had returned, though, he'd been even more tense, almost angry, and a little shell-shocked Dean thought in hindsight, and insisted that they pack up and get on the road. Dean had obliged with a few token protests that went completely unheard, and Sam spent the rest of the day curled into the Impala's passenger door, asleep or staring listlessly into empty space. 

_Shoulda known, Dean. Should have fuckin' known right then._

 'That's…good.' Dean swallowed, searching for something appropriate to say. 'Is it—is _she_ okay? Healthy, and all?'

Sam softened under the query, eyes filling before he turned away. 'She's small. They said she's small.'

'Is that, uh, good or…?'

'She's not putting on the weight they said she should by now.' Sam finally unwound and drove both hands deep into his thick tangle of hair. 'It's a no wonder really, you know? The way we live, and it's not like I've been taking extra care or anything—'

'Why not?' Dean asked.

'What?'

'Why haven't you been taking extra care, Sammy?' Dean's tone was laced with an irritation that momentarily surprised him, then he straightened up, stood, advanced on Sam who almost backed up a step before he firmed up and stood his ground. Dean squinted up at him. 'Why the hell haven't you taken extra care, Sam? You should've been. You shouldn't've been letting me drag your dumb ass all over like this with a baby on the way.'

Dean couldn't quite resolve where the anger was coming from. He was angry with Sam for not telling him, for blatantly ignoring the situation and not taking better care of himself, for not demanding that Dean do the same; but he was still more angry at himself for not. Fucking. Noticing.

Sam shook his head mutely for a second, then, so softly, almost timidly, on the edge of breaking down. 'I told you, Dean. I don't…want her.'

Dean stared at his brother for a few seconds, frowning hard, watched the kid's eyes fill up and overflow, watched his face flush and grow blotchy with the force of tears building up inside him, caught the hiccuping indrawn breath to staunch an upwelling sob, then he reached out and grabbed Sam around the shoulders and hauled him in, pressing his mouth into the shell of his ear and whispering hard, so he'd be sure to hear,

'Bullshit, Sammy. Just. Bullshit.' He hung on while Sam fought for a few seconds to pull back, to protest, and then finally gave in and collapsed into his big brother's embrace. Dean held him tighter. 'Don't you even think that, and don't you try and make me think you think it. I know you're lying, Sam. I know it. That baby is the last thing you have of Jess, and don't think I don't understand that. She's your step into the future, too, Sammy. She is.' 

He pressed his cheek hard to Sam's for a moment, felt the tears caught between their flush skin, before he pushed back and grasped Sam's chin firmly in his hand, making his little brother look him in the eye. 'You're going to have this baby, and we're going to figure all the rest out when she gets here. We will. I promise you, Sam. I'll make this happen.'

Sam stood speechless, tears rolling down his face, nose running, lips bitten hard and held between his teeth. He finally nodded, slowly, and then dropped his forehead back to Dean's shoulder. 

Dean rubbed a hand across his shoulders, and threaded fingers into his hair to scratch gently at his scalp. 'It's gonna be all right, Sammy,' he promised. 'It's gonna be all right.'


	2. Chapter 2

Dean did his level best to make good on that promise. 

They knocked off looking for John, at least actively looking for him, and kept to hunts that Dean could handle on his own, at least in the physical department. Sam could still do research, though hours bent over a desk full of books or staring at the computer screen was starting to wear on him as the baby grew bigger and out more pressure on his back and joints. 

Dean worked hard to make sure she did grow, too. He kept Sam in all the fresh rabbit food and grilled chicken and banana chocolate milkshakes (because that was evidently where Sam’s cravings had landed) the kid could handle without making himself sick, which wasn't, as it turned out, nearly as much as Dean would have liked. Despite his best efforts, Sam’s belly stayed small and compact, tucked into his long torso under his ribs, and Dean didn't wonder so much how Sam had gotten to five months pregnant without him being any the wiser. The first time Sam complained his waistband was getting too tight, Dean was jubilant, and went straight out to the nearest Salvation Army and scored two pairs of  38/38 jeans and a pair of soft, very stretchy, navy sweatpants that were only a little worn at the knees. 

Sam opened up a little, quit trying to hide himself so much when Dean was around, but he still wouldn't let Dean in close. Dean was surprised to find that hurt more than anything else. 

When Sam left for Stanford, Dean’s anger had boiled, and then simmered, and then cooled into a cold, hard lump, and he'd spent a lot of time ignoring the things that poked and pricked at him worst about Sam not being by his side any longer. One of the worst was lack of human contact. 

Dean had no issues getting a girl in his bed, getting her to ride him or suck him off, but it was a little weird to be asking them if they would lay and hold him afterward, or work the knots out of his back from too many hours driving across three states with no more than breaks to grab gas and a coffee.  Sam had done those things. Sam had always been in reaching distance with hair to ruffle or tug, a warm nape to grip gently in reassured fondness, fingers to tangle with, feet to slot together under dinner booth tables. Sam had spent countless hours since the age of eleven, straddling Dean’s hips after long drives or hunts that had seen his older brother tossed around more than usual, working out knots and kinks and soothing sore muscles. When Dean thought about it, there wasn't a day in their lives that they’d gone without being in physical contact with each other in one form or another.

And Dean wanted that back. 

Some part of him had thought he'd get it when Sam took to the road with him again, albeit due to a lack of any other viable choices, and it was hunkered down and sulking inside him because it hadn't been appeased, but Dean didn't want to push Sam either. Sam was a firecracker on his best days. Hampered with a growing belly and the hormones that went along with it, there were some days his natural moody instabilities tipped over into something more closely resembling clinical mental illness. Sam would have to come out of his physical shell on his own. Dean’s needs could, and would, wait until Sam was ready.

But maybe not that long. 

Sam rolled over for possibly the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes with an irritated huff and quite possibly the softest, most miserable sounding whine Dean had heard in his long experience of miserable-Sammy-sounds. Sam was a finicky sleeper as a norm, waking at the drop of a pin or, more realistically, at the first arrhythmic breath Dean took, waking or sleeping (something else Sam had been good for: rousing Dean from his nightmares before they even became nightmares, somehow wakened by the softest hitch and catch of air in Dean’s throat whenever he was in distress), and he was a stomach sleeper, more often than not pulling one knee up toward his chest and curling slightly. Dean remembered that knee frequently wedged between his own, or thrown across his thighs when they were young, Sammy turned on his stomach and sprawled across Dean’s chest and hip. He couldn’t do that now, hampered by the swell of his daughter growing inside him.

Dean counted to ten and heard the whine again, this time with a more desperate edge. He pushed his covers back and padded the couple of feet to Sam’s bed, lifted the blankets and slid under them. Sam tensed immediately, drawing away from him, but Dean stretched out, settled comfortably on his back and reached an arm around Sam’s shoulder. He pulled firmly, not giving his brother a choice but to follow the motion and roll into the curve of Dean’s side. He still wouldn’t relax, though, trying to hold himself apart an inch or two, body stiff and trembling with the effort of resistance.

‘Sammy,’ Dean said firmly, gently. ‘You need to rest, so relax and come over here.’

Incrementally, over the next few minutes, Sam’s muscles released and let him press into the warmth of Dean’s body, settling against him and shifting until he was comfortably propped all along his length: knee tucked up over Dean’s thighs like years before, arm crooked across Dean’s chest, belly cradled against the supporting cushion of his flank. Dean caught himself holding his breath at the weight of Sam’s belly resting against his side, struck by the firmness of it and the idea that there was an actual separate life in there, growing and waiting to be born.

Dean was starting to drift off to the soft brush of Sam’s fingers absently stroking over his sternum when he felt the first flutter of motion against his ribs. He almost jerked away, but checked himself in time to not dislodge Sam from his side. He relaxed, breathed, waited… It came again, this time with more certain force like to be sure it had his attention. Beside him, Sam stirred, shifted fractionally and pulled his hand from Dean’s chest to stroke over the curve of his belly.

Dean blinked at the ceiling, wide awake again, and swore he heard the softest of whispers from Sam’s lips.

‘Shh…shhhh, baby girl. Sleep. It’s time to sleep.’

Dean swallowed, throat suddenly tight around a lump of tightly compressed emotion he really didn’t have the vocabulary to name. He felt the fluttering tumble of movement against his side again and heard more breathy murmurs from Sam.

‘Sam,’ he croaked. He swallowed, breathed, tried again. ‘Sam, is that….?’

‘Yeah, she gets…restless at night. Sorry,’ he said, trying to pull away. ‘Don’t want to keep you awake.’

‘No.’ Dean said it a lot more forcefully than he intended. ‘No, it’s fine,’ he amended more quietly. ‘It’s fine. Just…surprised me, is all.’ Sam nodded slowly against Dean’s shoulder and settled back into him, still stroking slowly over his belly. ‘How—how long has that been going on?’

Sam shrugged minutely. ‘Couple of weeks, maybe. She’s pretty quiet most of the time. Gets a little rambunctious in the mornings.’

Dean chuckled quietly. ‘Early riser, like her daddy.’

Sam stilled suddenly, went tense and quiet, and a few seconds later, Dean felt the finest of tremors run the long length of all Sam’s limbs at once. He tightened his hold, frowning in the dark in concern. ‘Sammy? What’s wrong?’

Sam said nothing for a tense minute, body drawing up even further, until Dean figured out he was working to keep from breaking down. He soothed a hand up and down Sam’s spine, fingers working into the hollows on either side as they traveled up and then back down, waiting for an answer. ‘Sammy, c’mon…what did I say? Whatever it was, ‘m sorry.’

‘No, it’s... No,’ Sam mumbled into Dean’s shoulder. There was a sniffle, a hitched intake of breath, and Dean was certain he felt the warm damp of tears through his tee. ‘It’s just. I hadn’t really thought.’ Sam stuttered over his words through continued sniffles. ‘I’m going to be a dad.’

Dean blinked again, stunned, then a slow grin spread across his face, and he gave Sam a hard squeeze and ruffled his hair gently. ‘Yeah, little brother, you are. And you’re gonna be great.’

 

Sometime during the night Sam had shifted to his other side and Dean had rolled with him to spoon all along his back, and woke the next morning with his hand spread wide against Sam’s belly. He blinked himself slowly awake and started to pull his hand back when he realized where it was. He may be in the same bed, cuddled to Sam’s back, to offer him comfort and help him sleep, but that didn't mean he was allowed to molest him with unwanted belly rubs, consciously or not. 

He paused, though, when he felt a soft nudge at the middle of his palm. He started a little, then flattened his hand carefully and waited until it happened again, almost like the baby was giving him a high five. Although, for all he knew it might be an elbow or knee or foot connecting with his hand. He stroked gently like he'd felt Sam do the night before to soothe the restless fetus. 

‘Hey, baby girl,’ he whispered. ‘Don't wake up your daddy. He needs his sleep.’ He continued to stroke, short, soft movements so as not to wake his brother, and the nudging calmed after a minute or two and then stopped all together.

‘She likes you.’

Sam’s softly spoken words jarred Dean out of his revery and he pulled his hand back and rolled away, getting to his feet and heading for the bathroom. ‘Sorry,' he mumbled.

Sam pushed up on an elbow and frowned at Dean’s retreating back.

‘Dean, it’s––’

But the bathroom door closed on his words.

When he came back out a few minutes later, toothpaste at the corner of his mouth and his jeans pulled on, Sam was sitting up on the edge of the bed, one hand rubbing in broad circles around the lower curve of his belly. He was grimacing a little. 

‘You okay?’ Dean asked.

Sam glanced up, smiled briefly, and then made a face, hand pressing against a spot the baby had obviously kicked hard enough to make Sam’s nostrils flare on an expelled breath. 

‘Yeah, she’s just really making her presence known this morning,’ he said. ‘I think she’s upset.’

Dean quirked a brow. ‘What’s she got to be upset about?’

Sam cocked his head and looked up at his brother. ‘I think she was enjoying the attention and got a little pissed at the sudden lack thereof.’

Dean’s eyes flashed wide and then he ducked his head, turning away to start up the coffee maker on the counter.

‘Dean?’ A frown was pulling between Sam’s brows. ‘What’s wrong? Why are you acting so weird all of a sudden?’

 Dean shrugged off the question at first, but he could feel Sam’s eyes boring in between his shoulder blades, expectant of an answer. ‘Because I liked it,’ he finally mumbled.

‘Liked…what?’

Dean sighed heavily, edged with exasperation, not sure if it was at himself or Sam for making him talk about this. ‘I liked…touching her––you.’  He turned around and braced himself back on the counter. ‘That’s really weird…right?’

Sam just looked at him, solemnly. ‘No. Really, it’s not.’

‘But she’s not mine, Sam!’ Dean snapped in frustration. ‘I haven't got any right to feel any connection to her, and I certainly don't have a right to be giving you unwanted belly rubs.’ He rolled his eyes and shoved a hand through his hair, shaking his head. 

‘Who says they’re unwanted?’ Sam asked quietly.

Dean looked up sharply. ‘What?’

Sam shrugged. ‘She likes it. I like it. Nothing unwanted in there, Dean.’

‘Sammy…’ Dean’s tone was warning. 

Sam rolled his eyes this time. ‘Dean, don't go getting all macho or trying to be chivalrous and give ground where there’s no ground to be given. Her mother’s dead.’ His voice only cracked a fraction on the statement and he forced himself to go on. ‘All she has is me…and you. If you'll stop letting your ego get in the way and accept that I _want_ you to be a part of her life because you've always been a part of mine…the best part.’ He stumbled again and swiped at a tear, obviously irritated at his inability to control his emotions now. ‘Damn it, Dean…I can't do this alone! No matter what you think.’

‘Hey. Hey, hey, hey…’ Dean was on his knees at Sam’s feet, hands rubbing over his bare thighs in reassurance. ‘Sam, nobody said anything about you doing this alone. What, did you think I was just going to dump you somewhere with her and take off?’

‘I don't know,’ Sam admitted miserably. ‘I don't know. But you've always said you weren't dad material and––’

‘I don't remember saying that,’ Dean said.

‘But all the girls and––’

‘Hey.’ Dean tilted Sam’s chin up. ‘Who took care of you when you were little, huh? You think dad had it together enough to change your diapers and give you a bottle? Wipe your snotty nose?' Sam gave him the hint of a grudging, watery smile. 'Just 'cause I live like a nomad and have a girl in every town doesn't mean that's the way I want it forever, Sam. I remember.' His voice turned a little wistful. 'I remember what it was like.'

_To have a home. And a family._

Sam nodded weakly and knuckled at his eyes. Dean chucked his chin once and smiled. 'I'm here for as long as you want me, Sammy.' He dropped his hands, a little hesitantly yet, to the still too small curve of Sam's belly. 'And as for you, little miss, you need to stop being such a hooligan and give your 'ole dad a break.'

Sam smiled, despite his remaining tears, and cuffed Dean lightly upside the ear. 'Jerk.'

'Bitch,' Dean returned easily. He tipped forward, nose to Sam's bellybutton and said firmly but very fondly, 'Behave yourself, miss. I'm keeping an eye on you.' As if in direct answer to him, he felt a tiny nudge against the tip of his nose. He tilted his gaze up to Sam, still smiling. 'It'll work out, Sammy. You'll see.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gives birth.

And it almost did, except for a Rawhead in Nebraska who was taking children, and a busted water pipe.

Dean couldn't ignore that. He couldn't have ignored it before, but it pinched high and tight under his ribs now that he was, for all intense and purposes, about to have a kid of his own. So, against Sam's good and reasonable advice—and his ranting, begging, and pleading when that didn't work—Dean took off after the thing alone. A hundred thousand volts from a homemade taser and ten hours later, he woke up in a hospital, with Sam standing over him, teary eyed and desperate, to find he was suddenly limited on how many more times he was going to get to wake up. 

He was furious with himself for not following Sam's advice, and it only got worse when he thought about how he'd been spending the last three months prying Sam out of his shell and telling him how great things were going to be with the newest Winchester riding shotgun in her already purchased red racer-stripe car carrier, and now it was all going to hell inside a couple of months. If he even made it that long. He'd be damn lucky to see his little girl's big blue eyes. 

So, he got sullen, and he got pissy, and he took it out on Sam, and tried to play it macho and pretend it was all going to be fine like he'd never really expected to even make it this far. Sam got pissed and pulled off a miracle that turned out to be a Reaper that ended in Dean with a fresh lease on life but a laundry list of innocent dead people at the whim and fancy of one pious woman's overdeveloped sense of morality. In Winchester terms, it all worked out in the end.

It wasn't until they were headed north out of Nebraska, Dean's heart ticking away strong and steady behind his breastbone while he sat stewing in his own guilty marinade, that he actually noticed the toll the last few days had taken on Sam. Dying did kind of distract one, after all. 

Sam was hunched in the seat, head lolling, wrapped in a hoodie and a jacket even though it was early June and almost balmy out despite the current cloud cover, breaths puffing short and warm against the window. He was pale, almost pasty, and Dean scowled at the smudges under his eyes and the grey, sunken look to his cheeks. He was frowning in his sleep, lips moving soundlessly over words Dean couldn’t make out, and very occasionally he'd make a kind of low, hurt sound in his throat. Dean thought about waking him, thought maybe he was having nightmares again, only this time the starring role was his dumbass big brother in a puddle of high voltage water instead of Jessica pinned in fire on the ceiling; but at the same time, he didn't want to deprive the kid of any sleep, because God knew he looked like he needed it, even if it was restless and fitful. 

Dean kept driving on into the night, stopped a couple times for gas, and was surprised Sam didn't wake up. He had a moral argument again around dinner time about waking him up to feed him, but decided on stashing a couple of sandwiches in the cooler with some juice for when he woke up on his own. As the hours ticked by, Sam grew a little more restless and vocal in his sleep, moaning occasionally, almost like he was in pain. Dean thought their little sweetheart might be restless from the long hours on the road and reached across the seat to very carefully work his hand under Sam's layers and spread it against his belly. Something he hadn't done nearly enough of in the last week and found he'd missed mightily. 

He was surprised to find the swell tight and almost hard beneath his palm. He frowned as Sam made another low moaning sound and came awake suddenly with a sharp hiss, his hand clamping tight over Dean's.

'Holy… Ow!' he said tightly, grimacing.

Dean felt muscles release under his palm. 'She kick you that hard?'

'No, I—' Sam hissed again just as Dean felt his belly grow taut and hard like before. 'Mother…fucker…' He hunched forward a little, fingers curling tight around Dean's. 'That hurts.'

Dean was starting to feel something was very, very wrong, and his stomach was tightening around a cold lump of dread that he knew what was going on. 'Sammy, you okay?'

Sam shook his head, still grimacing. He spread his legs and even in the dark Dean could see that the inside of his thighs were dark and damp. 'I'm in labor,' Sam said, a little breathless and stunned. 'My water broke.'

Dean tried to wrangle enough sense together to make a response out of while Sam hunched in on himself again, swearing harshly, and the muscles under Dean's hand tightened fiercely. 'That's not—that's not supposed to happen until later, though, is it?'

Sam pulled a harsh breath in through is nose and let it out in a rush. 'No, not for at least another month…oh. Oh…oh, oh…ow! Fuck!'

'No, Sam, I meant—' Dean started scanning the sides of the pretty-much-as-deserted-as-you-could-get BFE stretch of backroad he was on for a safe place to pull over because he had a feeling he knew what was coming next. 'I meant that your water doesn't break until the baby's about ready to come, right?'

Sam's eyes went wide in the dim light for a split second just before his face screwed up in pain again and he pitched forward with another contraction. Dean let him clamp down on his fingers and hang on while he found a likely looking turnoff that was mostly level and protected by a stand of oak trees. He slowed and pulled off the road just as Sam straightened up in the seat looking terrified and panicky.

'Dean, I can't—! Oh God, I can't have her! Not here. Not now. Not like this!' His breathing was going erratic and in Dean's experience that meant he had about ninety seconds to calm him down before he passed out. Maybe less in his already distressed and exhausted state. 'It's too early! It's too early, Dean. She can't come now!'

Dean cut the engine, threw the parking break and turned in the seat, grabbing hold of Sam's shoulders. 'Sam, I think we're way beyond having a choice about this. Now, I need to you calm down. Just calm down and breathe. You're not doing yourself or our little girl any good by nearly suffocating, all right?'

'Our—our little girl?' Sam gasped, high and strangled. 

'Yeah, Sammy. _Ours._ I told you. I don't care if she's not my blood. That's not all that family's about. Now. Take a deep breath and let it out slow.'

Sam tried, gave it an honest effort, but another contraction hit him and had him curled forward, gasping and grabbing at the dash. Dean tried to get a count on how long it lasted, and then Sam was rearing up and back, almost lifting himself off the seat.

'Oh…God! Dean?' Sam's voice went high and desperate. 'Dean, she's coming. She's coming! I can feel her—' He was cut off by another pain that had him groaning out loud.

'Yeah, Sam, she is—' Dean tried calmly, but Sam's eyes shot open, hot and frantic, and the next sound he made was a deep, low moan and Dean could tell he was putting force behind it. He was pushing. 'Sam?'

'She's…coming,' Sam ground out between clenched teeth, still visibly bearing down with the pain. 'I can feel her pushing…out…oh, fuck!'

Sam spread his legs wide and bore down harder, face turning read. Dean sucked in a harsh breath, trying to focus. First things first.

'Little girl's in a hurry, huh?' He stripped out of his coat to give himself more maneuverability and then watched his brother close for the end of his current contraction. 'Okay, then, Sammy, we need to get these off of you…' Dean started working fast an efficient with Sam's trainers and pants and boxers, spreading his own canvas coat across the seat underneath Sam as he carefully but quickly stripped him down and got one foot up in the seat so his thighs were spread open and Dean could finally see what all the fuss was about.

And, well, it was worth the fuss.

Dean could see where the baby's head was pushing against Sam's not quite stretched opening, bulging him out painfully as she tried to force her way down and out. He patted Sam's knees, held them apart when he started to tense up with another contraction. 'Sam, I think you should try and breathe through a few, huh? I can see her pushing out, but you're not ready, man. You're not stretched enough.'

'Can't…help it…' Sam gritted, sitting up into the pain and making that low, moaning hum deep in his throat again while Dean watched the bulge push further out, straining at the unstretched skin, until it finally gave and allowed a sliver of wet skull to show. Sam dropped back against the door, huffing. 'I'm not even…pushing that hard. She's just…coming down.'

He barely got a reprieve before another contraction hunched him forward over his belly, moaning and humming, and finally grunting with the effort of bearing down. Dean watched as the sliver peeked out further, stretching Sam open and then receding back when he stopped pushing. 

It went on like this for nearly an hour.

'Dean, I can't…' Sam flailed and twisted in the seat as another contraction wrapped around his belly and squeezed, forcing his daughter's head deeper into his pelvis, exerting so much pressure he nearly screamed with it, and yet he couldn't get her to crown. She was stubbornly refusing to actually be born. 'I can't do this! She's too big…or something…or I'm just…' He rocked his head against the glass, nearly sobbing now. 'I'm no good at this. I can't do it! I shouldn't be a father!'

Dean shifted, trying to unfold as much as he could in the cramped space between the steering wheel and the seat back. He squeezed Sam's knees hard and rubbed down the inside of his thighs, peered again at the partial dome of their daughter's skull where it was stretching Sam open painfully but not fully. 'Sam, none of that now. You're gonna be great, and you know it. This doesn't happen all at once, and you know that, too. You're the smart one, college boy.'

Dean had hoped for a watery snicker or maybe even the glint of a resentful smile, but his teasing only brought on a fresh wave of tears that turned into strangled hiccups with the next contraction. The baby's head pushed forward, nearly crowning and then receded back once again with the end of Sam's push. This wasn't working, Dean decided, and he had no idea how long the baby could stay in the canal like she was and still be okay, but he had an idea it wasn't a whole lot longer, so they had to do something to move this along. He reached and grasped Sam's upper arms, pulling him forward.

'C'mon, Sam. I think we need to move you. Give this little girl a helping hand to get herself born. Think you can get up on your knees? Lean over the seat?'

Dean didn't give Sam a chance to answer, just deftly maneuvered him up onto his knees with his elbows on the seatback, belly hanging down, thighs spread. It made it a bit more work for Dean to see what was going on, but the instant Sam was upright, he was bearing down again, humming deeply, settling back and down as he pushed, and Dean could just see the curve of his little girl's head being pressed outward and this time staying when Sam let up to take a breath.

'Better?' Dean asked. 

Sam nodded vigorously and immediately started bearing down again. Dean attentively watched as the baby's head slowly crowned. Sam gasped and cried out suddenly and put a hand between his legs, cupping his daughter's emerging head. Dean crammed as much of himself into the footwell as he could and covered Sam's hand with his own, let his brother know he was there helping. He felt a sudden prickling heat behind his eyes at the idea that he and Sam were holding their daughter, helping her out into the world for the very first time. He marveled at the weight of her head as it slowly filled his palm with every one of Sam's deep, grunting pushes, until Sam cried out again and the head was suddenly there, in their joined hands. 

'That's it, Sammy. That's it,' Dean coached. 'You're doing great. Her head's completely out now.'

Sam did nothing but drag in a ragged breath, shift his legs further apart, settle a little lower, and then bear down into anther contraction with a loud groan. Dean watched and waited and coaxed through another ten minutes of Sam's escalating groans and grunts with no results until Sam finally yelled out in pain and frustration.

'Dean, I can't!

'Sam, you can,' he assured. 'You can and you are.'

Sam shook his head, gulping for air. 'Her…shoulders… Stuck. I can't—!' He cried out with another contraction, pushing so hard he burst a capillary and his nose started to bleed. He gasped for more air. 'Dean, you've got to— I can't get her out!'

'Sam, relax,' Dean commanded. 'Relax. Breathe. We've got this. Just breathe for me, and don't push yet, okay?' Sam nodded frantically, panting high and light to try and stave off the urge to push, giving Dean a chance to get his fingers worked up inside Sam's opening and feel for a tiny shoulder joint, hook his finger underneath and…

'Okay, Sam. Slow, steady push. Slow and steady.'

Sam obeyed, pushing with the next contraction but not with the intensity he had been, while Dean very gently tugged downward, freeing first one shoulder to Sam's startled, pained outcry, and then the other followed a moment later. 

'Homestretch, Sammy,' Dean said. 'Push!'

Sam sucked in a quick breath and bore down hard with a long, sustained cry, and the baby slipped the rest of the way out of him and into Dean's waiting hands. 

Sam collapsed over the seat, sobbing and gasping, drained and shaking so hard he could barely stay on his knees, dropped to his haunches instead. Dean sat back in the confined space, holding the impossibly tiny body of Sam's daughter in his hands. She barely filled them both, and she was limp and still and terribly, terribly quiet. He turned her over, swiped a finger into her tiny mouth to clear out the mucus, covered her nose with his own mouth and sucked very gently, drawing out the rest from her nose, and spat it into the footwell. She didn't move, didn't cry.

'Dean…?'

Sam's voice was thin, a desperate thread of sound, hanging on the moment his daughter would take her first breath. Dean wrestled himself out of his shirt, wrapped it around her tiny body and rubbed as vigorously as he dared, willing her to breathe. He felt tears streaming down his face, but he didn't care. He turned her back over, swiped out her mouth again, repeated the process with her nose, then covered both with his own mouth and gently blew, rubbed at her chest and limbs.

'Dean, please…'

Sam was huddling down in the seat now, staring wide and wet-eyed as Dean worked to bring life into the too tiny body resting in his hands. 

'C'mon, sweetheart,' Dean murmured. 'Don't you do this.'

'Too early,' Sam mumbled. 'Too early. I knew she couldn't—'

'Sam!' Dean snapped, and skewered his brother with sharp look that had Sam's jaw snapping shut but huge wet tears tumbling faster and faster down his cheeks. Dean ignored him and continued to work, blew into her nose and mouth again, flipped her over and rubbed her back. Rubbed her chest and flexed all her tiny limbs in turn. It felt like time was stopped and moving too fast at the same time, like too much of it had past, and his window was closing too quickly on him. It was now or never. If she didn't take in air—

A thin, pathetic wail filled the air, tapered off to silence while Dean held his breath, and then the tiny chest under his hand filled and rose and gave out a terrifically indignant outcry.

'Oh my God,' he breathed, bundling her up quickly, swaddling her tightly in his shirt. 'You perfect, perfect little girl.' He cradled her into the crook of his arm, snuggling her against the side of his neck. 'You beautiful, _perfect_ , little girl.'

He pushed up on his knees and tenderly lay the tiny bundle into Sam's waiting arms, leaning protectively over father and daughter. 'She's beautiful, Sammy.'

'Yeah,' Sam choked out, staring down in wonder at the tiny face all scrunched up and crying angrily. 'Yeah, she is…absolutely beautiful.' He raise his face to Dean's, smiled through the torrent of tears still rolling down his cheeks. 'Thank you, Dean. Thank you, so much.'

Dean grinned. 'You two did all the work. I just came for the show.'

Sam laughed, a little hysterically, and shook his head, finally smiling. 'Jerk.'

'Bitch,' Dean whispered as he bent forward to press a kiss to Sam's cheek. 'You've got yourself a real beauty there, brother. She's amazing. You did just…amazing. I'm so proud of you.'

Sam nodded and tucked his daughter up closer against his chest. She was starting to quiet a little, held secure and warm in her father's arms. He gazed down at her, lost in awe at the perfect little life he held. 'Hello, sweetheart,' he whispered. 'Hello, Erin Mary Jessica Winchester. It's nice to finally meet you.'


	4. Chapter 4

While Sam seemed fine, and so too, for the immediate future anyway, did Erin (she greedily took to Sam’s nipple a few minutes after her resuscitation and ate like a champ), Dean wasn't chancing anything. He found the nearest hospital after they got back on the road and checked father and daughter in for the night, possibly longer depending on what the doctors’ observations of Erin’s health turned out to be. 

Dean didn't realize just how emotionally exhausted he was until he sat down in the chair beside Sam’s bed after coaxing and calming him for over an hour because Erin had been whisked away to the NICU, and they hadn't seen her since. He was uneasy about it himself, but Sam was just about beside himself and the nurses were finally threatening drugs to get him to calm down and rest when Dean stepped in and got control of the situation by implementing his big brother you–better–do–what–I–say–or–I’m–telling–Dad voice. 

Sam broke into tears then and Dean spent the next twenty minutes consoling him, but the minute his little brother was calm for two seconds put together he fell into an exhausted sleep, and it was then that Dean could take stock of the shit shape his baby brother had managed to fall into over the last week while Dean was playing at dead–man–walking. All the telltale physical distress that he'd noticed in the car was there, and in sleep it made Sam look incredibly young and vulnerable. Way too young to have just given birth to a kid of his own, and certainly too young to be packing around the stress and responsibility of trying to keep his dickhead brother from killing himself on some stupid hunt and then having to find some way to cheat death because he hadn't goddamn listened in the first place. 

‘Not happenin’ again, Sammy,’ he whispered, voice rough with exhaustion and tightly screwed down emotion. ‘I promise. I'm not taking any more chances that'll leave the two of you alone.’

He smoothed away a stray curl fallen on Sam’s forehead and tucked the sheet and blanket more securely around him, then slowly backed up a step and dropped into the recliner one of the half dozen pretty nurses that had found time to visit Sam’s room had kindly procured for his six foot frame. The sun was starting to turn the horizon pale shades of lavender and pink to push back the indigo dome of night. The window was facing east and the sun would be pouring in in an hour or so. He should probably close the blinds so they could both sleep, but he was suddenly far too tired to even think about moving. His limbs felt like lead, and his head bobbed on his shoulders, too heavy to hold up. He gave up and sank into the recliner, and before he could even get himself situated, he was out like a light. 

 

As it turned out, one of the nurses came in and closed the blinds, so it was nearly noon by the time Dean roused from sleep, still feeling groggy and now a little stiff from sleeping so haphazardly in the chair. It was the sound of Sam’s soft murmuring voice and the quiet whuffling sounds only new babies make when they're feeding that made him finally pry his eyes open. 

‘Hey,’ Sam said softly, immediately aware the moment Dean was awake. 

‘Hey, yourself.’ Dean stretched and yawned enormously, worked the dryness out of his mouth and fervently wished for a hot cup of black coffee. He levered himself out of the chair and moved to stand beside the bed, peering down at the now pink swaddled, tiny bundle tucked up in the crook of Sam’s arm and barely reaching his wrist. 

Erin was all cleaned up, pink faced and wide eyed in Sam’s arms, wrapped up in a fuzzy pink blanket that didn't look hospital issue at all, with a tiny pink cap pulled snugly down on her head. 

‘Wow,’ he said softly, tentatively reaching out a finger to brush it against one petal soft cheek. Her eyes immediately tracked to and fixed on him even while she continued to pull and suck greedily at Sam’s nipple. 

Sam smiled, big and broad, almost child–like in his joy. ‘Beautiful, isn't she?’

‘Yeah.' Dean nodded, still aghast at just how true that statement was. ‘I mean we established that in the dark when she was covered in guck, but now…just. Wow.’

Sam laughed. It was clear and unforced in any way, and Dean thought it was the sweetest, most perfect sound he'd heard in a very long time. It made him smile, too. ‘Yeah, well, her mom was pretty much the hottest babe on the planet, so…’

Dean grinned and nodded his agreement, now tracing the fine line of Erin’s barely–there–eyebrows and the little crinkle of concentration in her brow like her suckling was a very complicated and intense task. ‘So, how is she?’

‘They gave her a clean bill of health,’ Sam said, and the relief in his face was both evident and infectious. Something tight and heavy in Dean's gut that he heretofore hadn't noticed suddenly released and left him a tiny bit dizzy. ‘She weighed four pounds eleven ounces and sixteen and a half inches long,’ Sam continued. ‘Her Apgar scores were terrific, and she’s eating like a champ.’

‘That’s…that’s great,’ Dean managed. He was really starting to feel dizzy now, like some weight he’d been carrying around for longer than he could think about was finally lifted off of him and he was floating skyward where the air was getting thin. ‘I’m really glad.’

‘Yeah, me, too,’ Sam admitted with a tiny wobble at the corner of his smile. ‘Fortunately, she wasn’t as early as I thought. My dates were off a little.’

‘Oh. And your labor? Did they, uh, know what brought it on?’ Dean ducked his head, smile slipping sideways, and he pulled his stroking finger away, jammed his hands in his pockets. ‘I mean, ‘cause you were still early, right?’

‘By a little under four weeks, yeah,’ Sam answered slowly. His smile was dimming now, in direct proportion to the tension building in Dean’s chest.

Dean swayed a little, pulled in a long, slow breath and then opted to sit down in the recliner again, put his head down and breathed.

‘Dean?’ Sam was shifting in the bed, trying to lean closer.

‘Sammy, I…’ Dean swallowed thickly, trying to force the lump out of his throat. ‘Fuck, I’m so sorry.’

‘Dean what are you talking about?’

Erin was whimpering now as Sam became more and more agitated by his brother’s behavior and distracted from feeding her. She wailed resoundingly as Sam shifted her off his chest so he could throw off the covers and get his legs over the edge of the bed. Dean looked up in time to see him slide off the edge and grimace as his feet hit cold linoleum, one hand going to his still soft and slightly swollen midsection like the jolt had caused him pain. He was on his feet and pushing Sam back onto the bed before Sam could protest. He fluffed pillows and deftly re-situated Erin so she could reach the object of her greatest desire, and Sam gasped a little as she latched on.

‘What are you thinking?’ Dean snapped. ‘You shouldn’t be on your feet.’

‘What am _I_ thinking?’ Sam asked, incredulous and angry. ‘What the hell are _you_ thinking, trying to blame yourself for this? Because that’s exactly what you are doing. Isn’t it?’

Dean tucked the blanket around Sam’s legs, unnecessarily rough in his motions. ‘Damn it, Sammy…’ He turned away and paced to the window, refused to turn around, and the next words came in a rasping, broken whisper. ‘She could have died…almost did.’

‘But she didn’t,’ Sam said firmly. ‘And you had nothing to do with that anyway.’

‘How can you say that, Sam!’ Dean raged, whirling around. ‘If it hadn’t been for my damn stupid, bull-headed, macho dumbass, we wouldn’t be here right now.’

‘Maybe we would, maybe we wouldn’t,’ Sam allowed. ‘But those two kids and who knows how many more would definitely be dead right now, Dean. You think I don’t understand why you did what you did? I’m not heartless, even if I am selfish.’

Dean looked up, stunned. ‘Selfish? What’re you talking about, Sam?’

Sam scowled, shook his head, and ducked it down to focus on the bundle in his arms. ‘I _was_ selfish, Dean. All I was thinking about was myself when I was trying to convince you not to go after that Rawhead. Me and Erin. That’s it. I was too damn scared that something would happen, and we’d be left alone, and I wouldn’t know what to do—’

Now the tears were coming again, and Sam swore softly, rubbing them viciously away. Dean sagged, all the bluster stolen from him by his brother’s confession. He came back to the bed, leaned up over it, and wrapped his arms around his brother and daughter.

‘You had a right, Sam,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘You had every right. I made you a promise. That I’d be there, come what may, and I goddamn near broke it. I should have listened to you.’

Sam leaned into him, wiping his wet cheek against Dean’s shirtfront. ‘You couldn’t have done anything else, Dean.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe. But I could have been a damn sight more careful about it, and then you wouldn’t have had to cart my weak, dyin’ ass to some holy rolling healer for a miracle cure. I stressed you out, Sam, way more than I should have. I could have at least been civilized about the dying part, but no, I had to be my usual asshole self.’

Sam snickered a little. ‘Yeah, I won’t argue with that.’

Dean smiled and noogied Sam lightly before planting a kiss on the top of his head. ‘Next time it’s your turn, and we’ll see how _you_ do.’

Sam shook his head. ‘No more next times, Dean.’

‘Yeah.’ Dean sighed. ‘Yeah, I’ve actually been thinking about that.’

Sam looked up. ‘Thinking about what?’

Dean leaned back, loosened his hold only long enough to pull down the bedrail and shift his hip up on the mattress so he could wrap an arm around Sam’s shoulders and put out a finger for Erin to latch onto hard and tug at like she wanted to stuff it in her mouth right beside Sam’s nipple.

‘I’ve been thinking we should stop.’

Sam blinked and stared. ‘Stop…what?’

‘Hunting,’ Dean said without looking up.

Sam said nothing.

‘I know you want to gank the demon responsible for Jessica, and I want it just as bad for Mom, and we still haven’t found Dad, but Sammy…’ He curled his finger, drawing Erin’s tiny, long digits with it so he could brush across her dainty knuckles with the pad of his thumb. ‘I think we’ve got something a lot more important than revenge to think about now. Something to protect and take care of, better than we were.’

‘Dad did the best he could,’ Sam offered weakly, like an afterthought, still too shocked at Dean’s words to put anything more meaningful together.

Dean nodded. ‘I know he did. But we have a chance to do it differently, Sam. Don’t you think we should take it?’

‘I…yeah. Yeah, Dean, I do. I just never thought you’d want to quit.’

‘It’s not really my fight.’ Dean shrugged. ‘I missed Mom, sure, but it was Dad who set my feet on the path. And I walked it, because what else was I going to do, Sammy? Wasn’t like there were a lot of choices, and by the time I was old enough to make them, I didn’t know any other way.’ He gave Sam’s shoulders a squeeze. ‘And there was you. I wasn’t leaving you for anything.’

Sam blushed, cheeks cresting pink, and Dean marveled again at how young he looked—how young he _was_. Because they both might seem older and rougher than their years allowed, but Sam was only barely out of his teens so far as Dean was concerned, and even if it was too late for Dean to make a clean break, Sam still had a chance. He had a chance to leave the Life behind and make a new one that wasn’t haunted by grief and anger and guilt. His soul was still new enough to start fresh, and Dean wanted to give him that opportunity if it was all he ever managed.

Erin snuffled sleepily, eyes drooping closed, but her grip on Dean’s finger didn’t slacken in the slightest. She slipped off Sam’s nipple and nosed in against his chest, sighing, and going limp in the safety and warmth of his arms. Sam cuddled her up close and bent to brush a kiss on her cheek. He tucked the corner of her blanket in under her chin and then looked up at Dean, his smile back in place, eyes big and bright and hopeful.

‘We’ll do it, Dean. We will, and we’ll make it work.’

Dean swallowed, overtaken again by that same rush of emotion he’d felt earlier and the lightheadedness at the lifted weight that he understood now had been the weight of his future—a bleak, featureless expanse that offered him nothing but blood and death and heartache. But now he had a new one, and it was shining in his little brother’s eyes and resting peacefully in his arms, sighing in little baby murmurs.

‘Yeah, Sammy, we will,’ he finally managed. ‘We absolutely will.’


End file.
